


Gentler Hands

by Mothwood



Category: Bleach
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Grimmjow, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff and Smut, Hollow Psychology, Idiots in Love, Implied Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Indulgent, Sort Of, Trans Ichigo Kurosaki, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ichigo, as always my friends, as enthusiastic as these repressed morons can be, eh it's a grey area, this is my brand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25282873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothwood/pseuds/Mothwood
Summary: Grimmjow squints a bit when Ichigo sits up a little and reaches out, flicking the little bedside lamp on."I have a phone. You have a phone. The whole point of the phone is so you don't wander into my room unannounced anymore." Ichigo tsks.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 229





	Gentler Hands

**Author's Note:**

> It's still the 15th!!! HBD Ichigo!   
> Ace & Trans smut written by an ace & trans author, for y'all's amusement, sorry for any poor formatting.
> 
> With some amazing art by @voidtonics once more, god they're so talented.

Grimmjow slips into Ichigo's bedroom through the glass of his window, rattles the blinds terribly on his way in when he forgets to keep himself  _ ghostly _ , as Ichigo likes to call it. Able to pass through things like the plus soul he, presumably, once was. (Like all the plus souls he's  _ eaten. _ )

Ichigo makes a choked little startled noise, and Grimmjow breathes in, eyes wide and pupils blown in the dark of the room, and the first thing he smells is  _ arousal,  _ strong in the air, seeping up from the bed he's standing on and from Ichigo, who's hurriedly wiping his hands clean on a tissue and glaring at the arrancar's silhouette against his wall in the extremely low lighting. 

Grimmjow squints a bit when Ichigo sits up a little and reaches out, flicking the little bedside lamp on. 

"I have a phone _. You _ have a phone _.  _ The whole point of the phone is so you  _ don't  _ wander into my room unannounced anymore." Ichigo tsks, keeping his voice relatively low even as he glares up at the other man. 

Grimmjow, of course, ignores him in favour of crouching down into a squat and tugging at the blankets over Ichigo's lap, yanking them down and blinking when he's hit with an even stronger scent of arousal. He doesn't know what he expected. 

Some knot of tension leaves him, at the knowledge it isn't  _ foreign leftovers _ in (his) Ichigo's bed, just the boy himself being- what's the word Yoruichi likes to use. Horny? 

Ichigo makes some odd sound between a hiss and a growl, and Grimmjow releases his grip on the blanket when the human grabs it and yanks it back up over himself. Grimmjow doesn't understand  _ why,  _ probably some weird mix of modesty and shame- which is stupid, because he's still wearing boxers. It's not like Grimmjow just got an eyeful of whatever he's got going on down there, just a nose-full. 

He doesn't know if that's an actual human word or expression. Are mouthful  _ and _ noseful both ones? 

He goes to ask Ichigo, refocusing on the boy, only to find him curled into a little ball close to the outer edge of the bed. He's left space, at least, and Grimmjow tsks fondly, pulls Pantera from his waistband and clips her down onto the little hooks in the wall above the headboard. (Ichigo had them put in so Grimmjow would stop wearing her  _ in  _ the bed.) He peels off his footwear, dumps it off the side of the bed, and then shucks his jacket, and it also meets the floor before he's pulling back the rest of the blankets and squirming under, back against the plaster wall. 

There's a long moment of silence, and then Grimmjow sighs in annoyance. The sort-of-sweet smell of Ichigo's slick is going nearly sour with frustration, and it makes him feel weirdly antsy. Like he's running out of time, somehow. 

"You can keep going," he huffs, when Ichigo moves to turn the light back off. 

"What?" 

"With whatever you were doing. Hurry up and make yourself cum, or whatever." He tellingly doesn’t avert his gaze, a way to fake the mild discomfort away. “Yer gonna be pissy and frustrated all night otherwise.”

Ichigo turns his head and stares at him, and even with the lamp behind him, haloing his hair in yellowed light, Grimmjow can see the confused expression across his face, marred by a fierce blush. 

"What- dude,  _ no _ . Didn't we- I'm positive we talked about this. I'm not gonna- you're not interested, I wouldn't make you uncomfortable like that."

Grimmjow rolls his eyes. "Christ, Kurosaki, I'm not  _ delicate.  _ Just because I don't…" He struggles to find the words for a long second, then gives up with a grunt of annoyance. "You're being stupid. It doesn't make me uncomfortable. It's like. Healthy and shit, isn't it? Fuck, I don't know, forget I bothered. Stay frustrated."

He huffs and turns away, puts his back to Ichigo, wriggling deeper into the bed, made difficult by the wafting scent whenever the blankets are ruffled. He wonders if there's a wet spot on the bed with how strongly Ichigo  _ smells,  _ or if it's just a wet spot on the boxers Ichigo is wearing. 

Ichigo stays quiet for a long moment, but the light doesn't go off and he doesn't settle back under the blankets. It pisses Grimmjow off, after a moment, his shoulders rising in tense annoyance up to his ears. 

He turns back around and throws an arm over Ichigo's waist, making him let out a little startled noise, and then tugs him close, eliciting a full-on yelp from the boy. Tellingly, though, he doesn't protest, and Grimmjow drags him up close and against his chest, buries his face in Ichigo's hair and ignores the way one bony shoulder digs into his chest. "Stop thinking so hard, I can literally hear your dumb human brain turning to mush."

"Shut up," Ichigo mutters sourly, "it's not that easy, you've dropped something weird on me. I need a moment."

"It's not  _ weird, _ " he takes a little bit of offense to that, actually, "-you need to get off. Just because I'm not interested in also getting off, doesn't mean I don't think you're like. Pretty. And you smell good when you fuck yourself."

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because Ichigo makes a noise remarkably similar to that time Grimmjow stepped on Yoruichi's tail by accident; a strangled sort of yowl, like he's holding back a wail, and Grimmjow steamrolls past it. "Do you want like… Some help with it, then? If you don't wanna do it yourself 'cause you're embarrassed or whatever, or think I'll lose my shit over it." 

That doesn't seem to be right, either, and Ichigo turns and hides his face in the crook of Grimmjow's neck with a miserable whine. He's grateful for his hierro when hot breath fans over his skin, keeping him from shivering at the odd sensation, where his gigai would have been  _ over _ sensitive.

Ichigo  _ does  _ smell good, and not just from needy pheromones. Sort of soapy-clean; he probably showered before bed, and his hair is soft. If Grimmjow  _ really  _ focuses on it, he can feel the strands brushing against his cheek and nose, but it's such a light, barely there sensation through silk-steel protection. (There are good things about the gigai. Like petting Ichigo's hair, or smoothing his palms over soft fabric and actually being able to  _ feel  _ it. Textures of wood and stone. Interesting things humans take for granted.)

He also smells like Grimmjow. The boy and the _whole_ _room_ smells like _Grimmjow's territory,_ and he leans into the possessive spark that sends up his spine. It's probably the closest he can get to _sexual_ desire. It's also probably good enough. 

"I'm serious," he mutters, and Ichigo nods sharply against him, and Grimmjow lets it drop, and closes his eyes. The light of the stupid desk lamp is sort of annoying, but he has a feeling he won't actually be getting any sleep yet; Ichigo sometimes takes time to collect his words, find the way he wants to respond. Once he spent an entire hour thinking before finally turning to his sister and saying 'no' to a question she'd asked. Grimmjow can't remember the details, but it's Yuzu's favourite story to tell when she's complaining about her brother. In a weird, fond, sibling way, of course. It's never genuine complaints. 

Grimmjow doesn't get it in the slightest. If there's no  _ real  _ problem, why complain about it in the first place? Humans and shinigami like to do that. Complain. 

Ichigo hums a little, and then squirms a bit. His scent has spiked, again, out of the sour tone and back into a stronger sweetness, and Grimmjow does his best to remain patient. 

"I- yeah. Alright." Ichigo mutters it, almost sounding shy, and Grimmjow grins to himself a little before letting him go and sitting up, shoving the blanket down and moving until he's kneeling between Ichigo's legs, pushing his thighs open despite the bright red flush to the boy's cheeks. 

"How much can you fit?" Grimmjow hums absently, and Ichigo makes an expression like he's about to combust on the spot. He decides to ignore it in favour of tugging the boxers down, (and he was right, there is a damp spot) grabbing at Ichigo's legs and moving them around until he can peel the underwear all the way off his stupid, delicate ankles and toss them onto the floor. 

Ichigo huffs, a little, wriggles his toes in the cold air and pulls his knees in towards each other, trying to hide himself, or something. Grimmjow visibly rolls his eyes, and Ichigo gives up. 

"I- two fingers? Is usually good?" It's not quite a proper response to Grimmjow's question, but it's close enough, and the human looks like he's about ready to  _ pass on to the next life  _ out of embarrassment; he decides to give him some sort of pass for it. 

Grimmjow hunkers down, drapes soft thighs over his shoulders and pulls the blankets back up, a little, an attempt to keep the fragile hybrid warm, rubs the teeth of his mask against Ichigo's inner thigh like a cat would rub against the corner of a table. He can feel every shiver and tremor in strong muscles, but it's the  _ warmth  _ that really intrigues him. The smattering of freckles along the curve of Ichigo's bony hips. He's all angles, really, skinny, lean thing. Tightly wound and corded muscle. 

Grimmjow knows what hypervigilance is like. It's the life of a hollow. But there's something that tells him Ichigo would look better relaxed, boneless. The same way sleep carves him out and leaves him lax and malleable, makes him whine when Grimmjow pricks at his ribs with his claws instead of go stiff with survival instincts. 

He bypasses fingers for the moment, laves his tongue over Ichigo's folds instead. The human jerks, startled, makes a raspy little noise that sparks something positive in Grimmjow's hind brain, the same way praise does, and so he repeats it, slides the point of his tongue up from Ichigo's hole between his folds all the way up to his clit. It's cute, a little swollen, larger than what Grimmjow has seen on  _ traditional  _ females, but it's not as impressive as what the tres bestia say about Halibell's twin cocks, so he's not quite sure he'd classify it as a  _ dick.  _

He decides it doesn't really matter, anyway. Ichigo is the one who should assign labels to his body, not Grimmjow. Grimmjow is just here to fulfil the prey-pack drive Ichigo sets off in him, obsessive-possessive hollow emotions. 

He presses his lips over it, sucks gently, head angled ever so slightly to the left, so his mask doesn't catch on anything sensitive, open sharp teeth a constant threat as he works his jaw slightly before releasing. He returns to the broad strokes of his tongue again, and Ichigo makes a helpless noise. 

He tastes about the same as he smells. Salty, clean. The fluid he leaks is sort of tasteless, almost, and Grimmjow doesn't mind it. Not as good as Ichigo's blood, (nothing compares to the rich taste and scent of that, filling all his senses when they fight. Maybe blood-lust is closer to arousal than possessiveness? He doesn't know.) but it's not something that has him reeling away in disgust. It's simply--neutral. 

The noises are another thing entirely. Grimmjow latches his mouth around Ichigo's clit again, teases just the barest hint of sharp teeth against delicate flesh, and his ears are sensitive. He catches every single hitching breath and rolling, needy whimper, the little tremors in Ichigo's abdomen and the way his thighs tense and relax in waves. 

Ichigo is so  _ pretty.  _ Pretty, strong,  _ good mate.  _ He rumbles, low in his chest, the vibrations travelling up his throat and clearly doing something for the other, because orange hair hits the headboard with a light thud. Ichigo doesn't even seem to notice, and Grimmjow doesn't protest when long fingers tangle in blue strands, holding him still as Ichigo grinds down reflexively against his face. 

He's making a bit of a mess; Grimmjow's mouth and chin are smeared with slick by the time Ichigo relaxes his grip and the arrancar can pull away slightly, shift and press one clawed finger at Ichigo's hole. It slides in easily, and he's not surprised; Ichigo  _ was  _ fingering himself when he came in through the window. It makes sense he's still stretched, pliant. 

(He's so warm and relaxed. Grimmjow's non-existent heart skips a beat at how much trust Ichigo is placing in him. Trust that he won't crook his fingers harshly to the side and tear him open out of spite.)

He licks absently around where his finger presses inside, then back up once more to the clit, and Ichigo sighs out  _ his name  _ as he presses the second digit inside, scissors them oh-so carefully, mindful of his claws as Ichigo rocks into the motion. 

There's something mindless, satisfying about the repetition. He can slowly work Ichigo open, press the pads of his fingers into the soft, spongy spot along his walls and make his hips jolt and his thighs come tight around his ears until Ichigo remembers to release him. He can roll circles around Ichigo's almost-cock with his tongue, make him gasp and pull his hair. It's easy work, really. 

_ So  _ easy. He loses himself in it. The odd, dull pleasure of doing a good job, if all the positive feedback he's getting is indicative of it. Ichigo's own pleasure rolls off him in waves, and Grimmjow files every little twitch and tense and sound away in his mind, slowly memorising him inside and out. What feels best. If it makes Ichigo this pliant, and quiet, he'll absolutely use this to his advantage. No shame in it at all. The next time Ichigo is mad at him for some dumb, human reason that goes right over Grimmjow's head, he'll just shove him down on his bed and put his mouth on him. 

Another advantage. 

He doesn't notice when Ichigo comes, not really; it's just an extra gush of fluid around his fingers, makes it a bit easier to fuck into him with them, his walls going tight then loose then tight again in an odd sort of milking motion, and Grimmjow wants to laugh at the stupid, human motion of it. He does a bit, a soft chuckle, tongue buzzing against Ichigo's clit, his jaw almost at the point of soreness, locked open at such a specific degree, having to be so careful of his teeth. 

The vibration makes Ichigo whine, but it's high pitched and almost distressed, and Grimmjow thinks for a moment he's accidentally hurt him, a flash of concerned panic as he freezes up, spine going tense. 

"Off- 's sensitive, lemme go." Ichigo is panting as he pushes Grimmjow's face back, and Grimmjow opens his eyes, wonders when he even closed them as he lets Ichigo gently shove him away. 

Oh. Ichigo looks so pretty, hair a mess, sticking up in unruly spikes where his other hand must have pulled at the locks himself; face flushed red all the way down to his chest, covered by his ragged sleep shirt, with the stretched collar pulled down. Grimmjow draws his fingers out of him and automatically sticks them in his mouth, maintaining eye contact and taking petulant glee in the way Ichigo's face screws up at the action. 

Ichigo grabs at the tissue box on the night stand with a shaky hand, and all but lobs it at Grimmjow's head; the arrancar catches it with his free hand as he sits up on his knees, Ichigo's legs slipping off his shoulders. He was right, the human  _ does  _ look good all sated and boneless. 

He wipes his fingers off first, then his mouth, then tosses the box on the floor out of spite, along with the balled up tissues. Ichigo makes a noise of protest, then a louder one when Grimmjow snatches up the discarded boxers and absently uses them to wipe up the lingering mess between Ichigo's legs with a snicker. 

"You could have used the tissues!" He hisses, face red with embarrassment, now, instead of pleasure, and one thigh twitches when Grimmjow brushes the fabric over his clit before dumping the cloth back over the side. 

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have pissed you off, so 's no fun." He grins, wide and mocking, then slides back up Ichigo's body with inhuman grace and steals a kiss. 

Ichigo complains, a bit, but it's muffled and half-hearted, because he kisses back. Grimmjow yanks the blankets up with a huff, and promptly drops his whole body weight over the smaller man, squishing him into the mattress with a satisfied purr and audibly making him wheeze. His mouth still tastes a bit like  _ Ichigo,  _ and he nips at the column of his throat, drags his tongue over the skin. 

"You're the  _ worst _ ," Ichigo sighs, once he gets his breath back, but he's already started to play with Grimmjow's hair, and doesn't seem to mind the fact he's naked from the waist-down under the blankets with Grimmjow still-clothed on top of him. He even tilts his head, a little, exposes the line of his neck for Grimmjow to have more room to work with. 

Yeah. He doesn't care much about sex, not really. Ichigo says he's probably 'asexual', but that's a human term, and Grimmjow hates using those. He's pretty sure he's in love, though. Stupid, soft, trusting human. He  _ loves _ Ichigo. 

He puts his teeth all over him, after all. And Ichigo, oh. He  _ lets  _ him. Trusts him not to make a meal out of him. Easy prey. 

Ichigo ruins the moment, of course, because he's stupid. "Thanks. You didn't have to. I didn't make you- I mean, you're fine, right?" 

Grimmjow sighs, long suffering. He's endlessly fond of this stupid bastard. Power enough to kill a God in his pinkie, but he still  _ worries  _ if he's  _ upset Grimmjow.  _

"I'm  _ fine. _ " Grimmjow rather pointedly lifts himself up, hands pressing into the mattress either side of Ichigo's ribs, and he reaches one out and flicks the light off before dropping back down, eliciting another low  _ oof _ from the other. "I'll do it again in the morning if you  _ go to sleep. _ "

Ichigo mutters something unkind under his breath, but Grimmjow doesn't call him on it- just closes his eyes and listens to the steady rock of Ichigo's heartbeat under his cheek. 

He doesn't know who falls asleep first, in the end. 

* * *


End file.
